


keep your brittle heart warm

by SeeTheVision



Series: folklore [2]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Angst, Falling In Love, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by Taylor Swift, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, past renmin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:47:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25811560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeeTheVision/pseuds/SeeTheVision
Summary: "I don't think I can ever forget him," Renjun confesses, hand instinctively moving to his collar where a silver ring hangs from a tarnished chain, hidden by the fabric of his shirt."I understand," says Jeno, his dark eyes as kind and welcoming as ever, "and I would never ask it of you. But, do you think he's left space in your heart for someone else?"
Relationships: Huang Ren Jun/Lee Jeno
Series: folklore [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1872076
Comments: 19
Kudos: 142





	keep your brittle heart warm

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by peace by taylor swift
> 
> (this work is the second in a series, i recommend reading the first part first!)

_But I'm a fire and I'll keep your brittle heart warm_

_If your cascade, ocean wave blues come_

_All these people think love's for show_

_But I would die for you in secret_

_The devil's in the details, but you got a friend in me_

_Would it be enough if I could never give you peace?_

  
  
  


"I don't think I can ever forget him," Renjun confesses, hand instinctively moving to his collar where a silver ring hangs from a tarnished chain, hidden by the fabric of his shirt.

"I understand," says Jeno, his dark eyes as kind and welcoming as ever, "and I would never ask it of you. But, do you think he's left space in your heart for someone else?"

***

The landscape is more unforgiving than ever as Renjun travels north. Having lived his whole life in bustling villages in the warm south, he's a stranger to the long dirt roads and unpopulated stretches between. 

With the little money he'd taken with him from the palace, he'd purchased what supplies he could. The silver ring could have him halfway to the northern mountains in a hired coach, but the thought of parting with his last tangible reminder of Jaemin is unbearable. Even if he tried, a lowly serf in possession of such a treasure would surely be suspicious. He'd have been swinging from the gallows as a thief before the ring left his hand.

It's almost a comfort to imagine.

***

Like Renjun’s, Jeno’s hands are calloused, palms hardened from splitting logs and scrubbing tables. He takes Renjun’s hand in his, the roughness its own kind of comfort, like a shared memory.

“It’s cold,” Jeno shrugs when Renjun shoots him a questioning look. He tucks their linked hands into his pocket as they pick their way across the snowy street toward the coast.

Renjun tightens his grip.

The rocky beach is slick with ice and saltwater. Choppy waves break against the shore as though desperate to claw their way out of the sea before receding, sucked back into the depths despite their best efforts.

Lately Renjun feels like the tide. He'll have good days, days when he feels like he's pulling himself from the swirling sea of heartbreak he's been drowning in for so long. Those are the days when he'll return Jeno's flirtatious comments, relishing in making him blush.

Other days, the weight of the ring hanging from his neck feels like an anchor, dragging him back into the depths.

"It's so beautiful in the summer," Jeno says, gazing out across the slate grey sea. "I can't wait for you so see it."

The cold salt air stings Renjun's face, but he focuses on the warmth of Jeno's hand wrapped around his. "Me neither."

The surf rises again, reaching a little further up the beach with each swell.

***

Renjun’s supplies run out just as he reaches a tiny coastal village near the northern border of the kingdom. Dusk is falling, promising the chill of an autumn night, as he wanders the streets, considering what to do next. He needs money and a place to stay. 

The cozy-looking inn has a “help wanted” sign in the window. _Well, if nothing else,_ Renjun thinks, pushing open the door into the warmth and noise, _I know how to scrub a floor and make a bed._

The lower level of the inn seems to double as a tavern and Renjun has to push his way through a tipsy crowd to the bar, where a black-haired man refills pewter mugs and chats with the customers. His eyes widen in interest when they land on Renjun.

“A new face,” he observes. “What can I do for you, stranger?”

“Can I speak to the innkeeper?”

The man—boy, really, he looks about Renjun’s age—crosses his arms over his chest. “I’m the innkeeper.” He looks Renjun up and down, raising an eyebrow. “Aren’t you a bit young to be traveling by yourself?”

“Aren’t you a little young to be running an inn?” Renjun retorts, lifting his chin in defiance.

They stare at each other for a moment before the innkeeper’s face splits into a smile, changing his whole demeanor from intimidating to welcoming. “I’m Jeno,” he introduces himself, offering his hand for Renjun to shake. 

“Renjun.”

“Are you looking to rent a room?”

“Actually,” says Renjun, “I’m looking to land a job.”

***

Renjun leans across the bar, reaching for a dirty mug to add to the clattering tray balanced in his other hand. Something flashes silver in his peripheral vision; the chain bearing his emerald ring falls free of his collar, swinging like the pendulum of a clock. He drops the mug, hurrying to tuck the ring away.

“Where did you get that?”

Renjun barely manages to keep his hold on the tray as he whirls to face Jeno. “I didn’t steal it,” he snaps.

“Never said you did,” says Jeno, raising his hands in appeasement. “Although,” he adds with a hint of a smirk, “that’s exactly what you’d say if you _did_ steal it.”

Dropping his gaze, Renjun steadies the tray and snatches up the errant mug. “It was a gift,” he mumbles, squeezing his eyes shut against the memories.

The weight of the tray lifts from his hands. Renjun opens his eyes in time to see Jeno set the tray on the bar before tentatively wrapping his arms around Renjun. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

But Renjun finds that he _does_ want to. He’s never breathed a word about Jaemin to anyone, and that was part of what made their relationship strangling: the constant secrecy. Renjun allows himself to rest his head on Jeno’s shoulder and breathe in the now-familiar scent of fresh-baked bread and clean laundry, deciding how much he should disclose. “He… he loved me,” he finally says, the first hot tear rolling down his cheek and soaking into Jeno’s shirt. “And I loved him. Too much.”

***

Loving Jaemin was a wildfire, a desperate, furious blaze that destroyed everything it touched. It lived from moment to stolen moment, never enough, always demanding more. Renjun felt it burning him from the inside out with every breath, every touch. 

What he feels for Jeno is a gentler flame, like the comfort of returning home after a long day to find the hearth crackling with warmth. 

***

Renjun’s arms strain against the weight of the water pail; even after a full winter of working at the inn, he still dreads this chore. He shoots a scowl at Jeno, who has one pail in each hand and looks completely at ease. “I should send you to do this by yourself,” Renjun grumbles.

A wide grin curls Jeno’s eyes into crescents. “You can’t send me to do anything, Renjun, this is _my_ inn.”

“Maybe I’ll stage a mutiny.”

Jeno laughs so hard the water in his buckets nearly sloshes over the side.

“Jeno! Renjun!” Jisung, an orphan boy Jeno took in and put to work in the kitchen, rounds the corner so fast he nearly bowls them over.

“Calm down, Jisung, what’s the matter?” asks Jeno.

“You won’t believe who’s here,” pants Jising, eyes bright with excitement.

“Who?”

“ _The prince himself!”_

The water pail falls from Renjun’s grasp. He barely registers the cold water soaking into his shoes as his hands fly to his chest, pressing against the place where the emerald ring rests against his sternum.

Jeno follows the motion, eyes narrowing in confusion before widening in realization.

“Prince Jaemin?” he asks incredulously.

“Yes!” exclaims Jisung, but Jeno continues staring at Renjun.

“Yes,” Renjun echoes, his voice sounding distant to his ears. “Prince Jaemin.”

***

A few days after arriving at the inn, Renjun falls ill. His head spins, his limbs feel heavy, he shivers even as sweat soaks through his clothes.

“It’s all those nights sleeping outside,” Jeno scolds, pushing Renjun back onto his cot. “No work for you today. I don’t need you passing out and drowning in the laundry vat.”

“I’m here to be a help,” Renjun protests weakly even as his heavy eyelids threaten to slip shut, “not a burden.”

“Trust me,” says Jeno, laying a damp rag across Renjun’s burning forehead, “a sick man is easier to deal with than a corpse.”

Renjun’s weak chuckle immediately turns into a fit of coughing. Jeno holds a glass of water to his mouth, helping him drink. When he catches his breath, Renjun collapses back onto the pillows, blinking blearily at Jeno. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

Jeno adjusts the cloth on Renjun’s forehead. “I’m very good at taking care of people.”

“I can take care of myself,” grumbles Renjun.

“Maybe so,” Jeno chuckles, tucking the blanket snug around Renjun's form, “but you don’t have to.”

***

The most luxurious room at the inn is nowhere near the decadence of the palace, but the staff does their best to prepare it as the prince and his escort take their dinner in the tavern. Renjun slips in as Jisung leaves, the room left empty save for the luggage carried up from the street below.

Taking a deep breath, Renjun lifts the tarnished chain over his head and takes one last look at the emerald, glinting innocently in its bed of silver. He closes his eyes and presses his lips to the metal, still warm from resting against his skin. By the time Jaemin enters the room, the silver will be cold as the glass of the windowpanes.

Hands trembling, Renjun places the ring neatly in the center of the pillow.

“Goodbye,” he whispers, throat raw with the threat of tears.

***

The first snow takes the village by surprise. Renjun stares up at the sky in awe; he had spent his whole life too far south to have ever seen snow before. The flakes tingle as they meet the warmth of his skin and melt into shimmering dewdrops. He laughs, tilting his head up to the sky. "It's beautiful!"

He turns to find Jeno watching him the way one would watch a sunrise. Jeno steps closer, brushing snowflakes from Renjun's hair, close enough that Renjun could count his dark lashes, and for a moment Renjun is certain that the cold kiss of the snowflakes will be replaced by Jeno’s lips on his.

Instead, Jeno presses a gentle kiss to his forehead. "Not until you're ready,” he murmurs, breath crystalizing in the air like a plume of smoke.

***

In the morning, Renjun allows himself one look out the window. Jaemin mounts his horse with perfect posture, ever the untouchable prince. Maybe he imagines it, but he thinks Jaemin’s eyes rove over the inn as though searching, longing for one last look at something forbidden. A flash of green glimmers on the finger of his right hand.

The royal entourage leaves town with no small amount of fanfare from the villagers, but Renjun doesn’t join in. When Jaemin turns the corner and is out of sight, Renjun slips out of his room and down the stairs, out the back door of the inn. There, as he knew he would, he finds Jeno, splitting logs for firewood as he does every morning. 

Jeno pauses in his work, letting the ax fall to the ground. “Renjun,” he says, letting the name hang in the air between them. He looks like he wants to say more, but he bites his lips, his dark eyes searching Renjun’s, questioning. The cool spring breeze ruffles his hair, tugs at his clothes.

Spring. It smells of new grass and melting snow. It smells of new beginnings.

Renjun launches himself at Jeno, letting his arms wrap around his neck, letting his fingers curl into Jeno's hair, and finally, finally pressing their lips together.

_Yes. Yes, my heart has room for you._

**Author's Note:**

> i didn't mean for this to be a series but the folklore album has me in a chokehold and i have no self control.  
> lmk what you think in the comments!  
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/see_thevision)  
> [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.qa/see_thevision)


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